Despite
the racial tensions brewing in Oyster Harbor in the 1930s, three interracial
couples have found love. When a hurricane blows through, will hate finally be
washed away or will it grow back stronger than ever?

Jonathan
Carter, filled with hate from a childhood incident, cares only about keeping
the Klan strong on the island. Cali Waters, still grieving for her husband who
died from a Klan attack, longs to use her healing gift instead of being the
Carter family cook. When a hurricane threatens the hospital Jon started to build,
an injury puts his life in her hands and a chance to heal more than his flesh.

Jonathan’s
sister, Mary, is tired of the sheltered existence she’s lived since being
raped. When Jimmy Clark, a black oyster
shucker, rescues her during the hurricane, she heals from his gentle love. But
if her brother finds out, both relationships will be put to a test fiercer than
any storm.

Oyster
Harbor ~ where passion and race collide

Excerpt (explicit)

“Lock the
door.”

She frowned
and halted her movement. “Whatever for?”

“Cali, if
you’d stop questioning everything, I wouldn’t have to give you so many orders.”

She left the
cloth balled up on his belly. The sound of the lock clicking into place made
him hard. When she returned to his side, she rinsed the cloth and stroked it
down his legs. The sight of her skin—brown with a touch of gold—looked so
perfect next to his. Made him look more alive. He was always too damn pale,
especially now because of his injury.

“Ahem. You
forgot an important spot.”

She glared
at his jutting organ. “You can clean that yourself.”

“Not as well
as you can.” He grasped her wrist and covered it with her palm. “Heal me, Cali.”

The pressure
of her supple fingers through the thin cloth was gone too soon.

“Your chest
needs healing. That other part of you seems healthy enough.”

“Everything
is connected.” He commanded her with his eyes. “Besides, I know you want to.”

Her bottom
lip quivered. “You’re nothing but evil, Jonathan Carter.”

His breath
caught when she finally stroked the cloth down his length.

“Get rid of
the rag,” he said. “I need to feel your healing touch.”

But she
looked down and froze.

“And for
God’s sake, don’t think about your late husband. You’re a vibrant, young woman
in need of pleasure. Besides, he’s not here.”

“His spirit
is always around me,” she whispered.

“No, it
isn’t. We locked the door.” He rotated his hips under her hand even though it
made his chest hurt like hell. “We deserve a little pleasure after that
miserable night.”

“It was
rough,” she agreed. “But you confuse me.”

“The feeling
is mutual.” He sighed. “Are you going to wash me or not?”

Her slender
shoulders rose and fell with a shrug. “I suppose a bath isn’t so evil.”

His head
thrashed against the pillow as she cleaned him with a few swift strokes. Since
she insisted on using the washcloth, he plucked it away. A spasm gripped his
chest from the feel of her bare palm against his swollen flesh.

“Cali,” he
gasped. “A little more.”

Wet and
soapy, her hand skated across him. Closing his eyes, he imagined he was inside
her instead. Someday, he would be. Strong, virile, and pinning her to the bed.
Driving into her hard, over and over until she shattered.

A flash of
blinding pleasure ripped through his balls before he could warn her.

“Oh!” she
exclaimed when his seed coated her fingers. “The more I clean you, the dirtier
you get.”